


the flip side

by jinkandtherebels



Series: angel AU [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, angel au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Shisui wonders how his life got so weird. It probably started when he almost hit the angel with his car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the flip side

**.**

**the flip side**

**.**

_It is dark, and he is freefalling._

_His wings burned up hours ago. Now there is only the plummet, wind whistling and then howling in his ears. The pain in his back is a constant throb. He misses home. He misses—_

_He just wants it to stop._

_When he does finally hit the ground it is a relief, even as the impact crushes half the bones in his body. (They heal quickly, a parting gift from those who cast him out, but the ache lingers.)_

_There are lights approaching, fast. He can barely lift his head, let alone move out of the way, so he closes his eyes and braces for impact._

_There is none._

_A screeching noise fills the air, and the lights stop inches from his face, but he has not been hit. The click of a car door opening reaches his ears, followed by approaching footsteps and a panicked voice._

_Panicked and impossibly familiar._

_“I’m so sorry, man—are you okay?”_

_Later there will be time to puzzle out how in Heaven and Earth he has come to be here, of all places._

_But for now, all Itachi registers is that Shisui is with him._

**_I am safe._ **

.

Sometimes Shisui wonders how his life got so weird.

It probably started when he nearly hit the angel with his car. Which had not been his fault. Really. He’d just been driving around on the shittiest night imaginable—all dark skies and pouring rain that would have made it difficult to see someone even if they _hadn’t_ just crashed into existence in the middle of the road—and trying his best to get home without, yanno, dying. Or wrecking the car, because he really didn’t have the money for repairs. Or food. Or his heating bill. Or…

Moving on.

Angel in the headlights, right. Shisui’s still trying to wrap his brain around that one. Clearly he’s managed to pick up an asylum escapee. That’s the only explanation for a naked dude running around the streets at night, insisting that he’s an angel of Heaven and staring at Shisui like he’s the Great Pyramids or something.

Oh, and passing out five seconds later.

Anyway, it wasn’t like he could just _leave_ the guy there, which is how Shisui has ended up in his shabby little apartment with a soaked angel (clothed now, thankfully) sitting placidly on his couch.

He wonders which of them is the crazier one.

“So,” he tries to begin.

The guy just stares at him with those fathomless black eyes, water dripping off the ends of his (girlishly) long hair.

“Um,” he tries again.

The self-proclaimed angel continues to stare and drip.

Somehow what ends up coming out of Shisui’s mouth is “Towel.” Which is how he ends up with a soaked angel sitting on his couch and wearing an awkwardly constructed towel turban.

“Thank you,” the crazy man says politely.

“Uh. No problem. You better watch it, man, or you’ll end up with a cold.” Is he lecturing a guy who thinks he’s a celestial being on how to take care of his health? Yes, Shisui realizes, he is indeed. This is getting surreal.

He finally thinks of a good place to start. “What’s your name, anyway?”

This really hurt look blazes across the guy’s face, like Shisui’s kicked him in the gut. It makes his insides squirm, but he blinks and the expression has been carefully wiped away.

“Itachi. My name is Itachi.”

“Well, I’m Shisui.”

Maybe his name means something really offensive in angelspeak, because Itachi looks like he’s going to be sick.

“This is not happening,” he says faintly.

“You’re telling me,” Shisui retorts because hey, _he’s_ the one with the mental institution escapee dripping all over his couch. He feels this gives him exclusive freakout rights for now.

Itachi apparently does not agree. His face goes from white to green and he promptly throws up all over Shisui’s coffee table. 

Which is—somehow—how Shisui ends up with an angel for a temporary roommate.

Again. Surreal.

.

He has to remind Itachi to eat.

Shisui isn’t sure at what point he became babysitter to an angelic Anna Anderson, but it happened and here they are.

Anyway. Itachi “isn’t used” to eating. He “isn’t used” to having a proper body at all, as apparently angels exist in some kind of only semi-corporeal form most of the time (Shisui doesn’t get it and he’s not going to give himself a migraine trying), so the “human experience” is proving…interesting. (For the record, Shisui is also running out of patience with the air quotes his mental monologues need to employ to keep up with Itachi’s bizarre way of speaking.)

“Interesting”, by the way, is turning out to be a code word for _terrifyingly awkward_. Itachi keeps saying (when he actually talks) that he has no experience with being human. Shisui is starting to believe it. The dude appears to have no knowledge of how to interact with people, and not a single clue what constitutes as creepy.

Their first night under the same roof, Shisui got that point hammered straight home.

After pointing Itachi to the other couch (the one he hadn’t completely soaked) with a blanket and handing him a pile of clothes, Shisui had gone straight to bed. It was Friday night and he was way too tired to deal with this shit. He planned to sleep like the dead until noon and _then_ try to work out where his life had gone so bizarrely wrong.

He liked that plan. It was a good plan. It did _not_ include waking up at 2:30 in the morning to see his resident wacko bent over the bed and staring at him.

Itachi took the resulting punch to the face in stride. Or maybe he was holding a grudge and planning to murder Shisui the next time he closed his eyes. Whatever.

The immediate personal space discussion mostly consisted of “what the _hell_ , man” and “you can’t just sneak up on a guy like that” and “I don’t care if I am irresistible, you need to chill out”. There was a more comprehensive lesson the next day, when Shisui had gotten his required twelve hours of sleep and was therefore better equipped to handle the situation.

Shisui is still showering with the door locked, by the way.

On top of that Itachi doesn’t have the hang of sleeping (“angels don’t”—what a surprise). The rest of Friday night, which Shisui had so fervently prayed would go without incident? Itachi ended up wandering to the roof and staring into space for hours.

Any other night, any other damn night at all, Shisui might have been moved by the image. A fallen angel in his own mind, staring up at the stars, probably reminiscing about the home he’d lost (he’s a romantic at heart; so sue him).

That particular night, however, happened to be one in which temperatures dropped into single digits and the nonstop rain was traded in for snow. Which is how Shisui has ended up with not only a socially awkward “angel” living in his apartment, but now one with a cold as well.

His life sucks sometimes, it really does.

.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you might’ve mentioned that about fifty times,” Shisui grumbles. “Drop it already.”

“There is no need to be rude.” The words are meant to be sharp, he knows, but Itachi’s nose is so stuffed that he ends up sounding more like a petulant five-year-old than anything else. Shisui snorts into his tea.

“Newsflash, Itachi—when you wake a guy up at six AM on a Saturday and tell him that you ‘believe you have caught some kind of human disease and are dying’-” he makes the air quotes with his fingers even though Itachi probably doesn’t know what they mean, because dammit all _someone_ should have to suffer the things with him “-it doesn’t make for a terrific morning.”

“And what, pray tell, does?” Itachi asks. There’s sarcasm all but dripping from his tone. Apparently getting sick can make even angels cranky.

Shisui ignores the pissy tone and considers. Why not.

“Well, I’ve always personally known ‘good morning’ to be an oxymoron, but if I _had_ to get up …” Food is the only thing he can think of that might just be worth getting out of bed for, so he runs with that. “Breakfast would be good. Eggs, maybe some toast that wasn’t burnt all to hell. Oh, and bacon. Lots of grease-dripping, artery-clogging, heart attack-inducing bacon.”

He’s all but drooling at the thought. Itachi, naturally, breaks into his delicious daydream with a mildly disapproving tone.

“You would like your breakfast to potentially kill you?”

“Huh?” Shisui blinks and wipes surreptitiously at his mouth. “No, I was—exaggeration, Itachi. Humans kinda have a talent for it.”

“…I’m aware, Shisui.”

It’s then that Shisui begins to realize that Itachi does in fact have a sense of humor. It’s just very, very dry.

And then Itachi’s face screws up and he sneezes—actually sneezes—and looks so damn _startled_ that Shisui has to start laughing.

“Dude, for the last time—the cold is not going to kill you. Chill.”

Something weird happens then, because while Itachi still manages to look all dignified and affronted, there’s a change in his eyes. They soften as Shisui laughs, and his frown twitches slightly at the edges.

It’s bizarrely familiar and he has to fight down an instinctual grin in response.

.

Shisui has no idea why he hasn’t called around, or maybe started putting up posters asking if anyone’s lost their lunatic. He should be on the internet trying to find nearby mental institutions, seeing if anybody has raised the alarm. He should be calling his friends and freaking out. He should be having the mother of all panic attacks and living in terror that Itachi will stab him in his sleep.

He should be, but he isn’t. And that in itself should worry him more than it does.

.

He feels kinda bad about not having much in the way of entertainment (oh sure, he’s housing the guy and _he_ feels bad), so he shows an interested Itachi how to change channels on the TV and leaves him alone for a bit while he takes a shower.

Of course, because no good deed goes unpunished and Shisui’s luck has always been kind of awful anyway, the decision to give Itachi TV privileges backfires horribly. That is, the guy somehow manages to get himself addicted to reality television.

The third time Shisui walks by to see Jersey Shore playing on his television, entertainment or no, something needs to be said.

“Uh…Itachi?”

“Yes?”

_Why are you still watching that shit_ sounds a little harsh, so he opts for a good old-fashioned “Dude, what the hell?” instead.

Itachi continues to stare intently at the screen as he answers. 

“I am trying to work out how you normally interact. I am, for all intents and purposes, one of you now. I need to become accustomed to how you behave.” Shisui has taken ‘you’ to mean humans, and he notes the unhappy tone in which Itachi counts himself among them. “I will need to fit in. Otherwise my stay may become...unpleasant.”

_That’s one way of looking at it_ , Shisui muses, visions of shock therapy and straitjackets dancing uncomfortably through his head. He wonders with a sudden jolt if something like that was the reason Itachi ran away to begin with.

In any case, he considers Itachi’s formal speech patterns and the way he doesn’t _ignore_ personal boundaries so much as have no idea they exist at all, and the whole fitting in thing isn’t looking too likely.

Itachi interrupts his thoughts with a sneeze. The startle response only happened the first time, to Shisui’s disappointment, but Itachi hasn’t yet stopped looking grossed out when it happens.

“Our Father may be ineffable,” he mutters, “but this appears to be a design flaw.”

That gets Shisui laughing again—because _of course_ , Itachi would be a germaphobe on top of everything else—and thinking that maybe keeping him around won’t be so terrible after all. For the entertainment value if nothing else.

He’ll have to start by explaining that Jersey Shore is not a good template for human behavior, though.

.

They spend Saturday night eating leftover Chinese. It’s at least a week old (Shisui has learned that when your job is shit and rent is high you never throw food away), but Itachi seems to be liking it okay. He seems so calm, so normal, that Shisui lets himself ask a question.

“So if you’re an angel, why’re you down here? You supposed to be my guardian angel or something?”

It’s a joke—mostly—but Itachi’s face stiffens. He swallows his bite of chicken and sets the container down.

Shisui senses that he’s scratched open an old wound and is scrambling for something like damage control when Itachi answers.

“My powers are gone. I cannot protect anyone,” he says dully. “Then again, I didn’t do a very good job of it when I had them.”

Shisui scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, it’s okay, you don’t have to-”

“As for why I’m here,” Itachi interrupts, and Shisui suddenly wonders how long he’s been waiting to answer this question. “It is simple. I did a terrible thing to prevent my family from doing a terrible thing, and I was cast out for it.”

Okay. He’s spent plenty of time listening to coworkers complain about family drama; he can handle the celestial soap opera. “So you were the only one out of your family who thought they’d cracked? That had to suck.”

It’s evidently the wrong thing to say. Itachi begins to pick at the threads of Shisui’s (poor, mildew-y) couch. “No. There was…one other.”

“Oh. Who was it?”

Still picking away, and hesitating now too. Not a good sign. “Someone I loved.”

Somehow Shisui gets the feeling they aren’t talking about Itachi’s grandma. “Did, um—did she get kicked out too, then?”

Itachi gives him a very strange look. “He was gone before I did what I did. He…”

Itachi is getting quieter and quieter. Shisui is miserably aware that he’s treading on thin ice, but it’s too late to turn back now. All he can do now is strain to hear and look understanding.

“He did not approve,” Itachi finishes finally, and there’s sadness there, plenty of it. “He chose to leave.”

Shisui frowns. “Wait, wait—you loved this guy and he didn’t help you out?”

Itachi lifts a shoulder, looking uncomfortable and very human. “What I did went against his morals. Every last one of them. He didn’t want to get involved and I do not blame him.”

He stares at Shisui hard as he says this, as if he’s pleading with him to understand. Shisui wonders uncomfortably if Itachi is trying some kind of angel telepathy and his own brain is just too thick to receive the signal. Then he reminds himself that Itachi is a nutcase; somehow it doesn’t make him feel better. He sighs.

“Well, I still say it was a shitty thing to do. You don’t strike me as someone who’d do something drastic if it wasn’t completely called for.”

Shisui isn’t sure why he says it, because déjà vu or not, when it comes down to it he doesn’t know Itachi at all. The guy could be anyone. He could be a serial killer, for god’s sake.

But he doesn’t _feel_ like one, and Shisui’s always been one to trust his gut over reason. For better or worse.

Guts aside it looks like the theme of Shisui’s conversational ineptitude will continue. Whatever he said was apparently the verbal equivalent of stepping on a land mine, because Itachi looks terrifyingly like he’s going to cry.

“Shit.” It’s not one of his most eloquent attempts at comfort. “Um. Sorry. I guess I shouldn’t make assumptions about stuff I know nothing about.”

“You didn’t-” Itachi stops, clears his throat, tries again. “It is fine. Thank you.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being thanked. He also has no idea why Itachi sounds so goddamned _relieved_ that Shisui thinks well of him.

All he knows is that it should be making him really uncomfortable, but all he can seem to muster up is a vague warm sensation in the pit of his stomach.

His guts, while possessing excellent divining skills, don’t seem to have any clue regarding appropriate conversations to have with complete strangers. But then again, neither does Itachi.

.

_Shisui goes to bed shortly after their discussion, the tips of his ears pink. Itachi stretches out on the couch and stares at the ceiling._

_It’s not an especially nice ceiling. It’s a displeasing shade of green-grey. And there are cracks in it. Plenty of cracks, and also plenty of water damage. There’s a particularly bad place over near the front door that’s been dripping nonstop since Itachi arrived._

_The water must trigger something in his newly vulnerable body and Itachi sneezes again. His head hurts._

**_Shisui left Heaven for this?_ **

_It feels odd to think of this human man as Shisui. He has Shisui’s name and his likeness, certainly (Itachi has never understood the mechanics of angelic reincarnation and wonders how typical this is). He has Shisui’s unshakable sense of humor and unpredictable swerves of emotion. He has his selfless kindness, kindness enough to let a complete stranger into his home._

_They are strangers now._

_That hurts more than it should, especially when Itachi knew standing at that cloud’s edge that he would never see his friend again. But in its own way, living with Shisui in his new body is almost worse._

_He is missing so much. That righteous anger that Itachi saw so much of near the end of their time together, yes, but it is so much more than that. He is missing his entire life. Centuries of shared memories. Shared battles, healed wounds, pranks, studies with their heads bent over the same book._

_He is missing Itachi, and Itachi misses him more than should be possible when they both sleep under the same roof._

_(Shisui sleeps, in any case. Itachi usually stares at the unimpressive ceiling all night, occasionally brushing his fingers over the necklace at his throat.)_

.

Sunday morning brings with it a happy little surprise. The snow hasn’t stopped, meaning even a short drive is taking your life in your hands. Shisui is keeping his fingers crossed for more of the same; maybe he won’t need to go into work Monday.

Everyone loves a snow day.

Humming happily to himself, Shisui stretches in bed and is mentally planning an entire day spent lounging around in his electric blue plaid pajamas (which his best friend/sorta ex-girlfriend Anko calls a travesty, but they’re comfy, so whatever), possibly while watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns.

That’s when he smells the smoke.

It takes him about two-point-five seconds to remember that, oh yeah, he has a dude who thinks he’s an angel living in his apartment.

And said angel dude is by the smell of things setting the place on fire.

Shisui is out of his bedroom and darting into the kitchen with a speed that would make the Flash himself weep with envy. There are a lot of things he can handle given the proper amount of sleep, but sometimes enough is enough. His freaking kitchen is full of smoke and he _just_ woke up and some nasty little part of Shisui wishes he’d hit Itachi with the car. Just a bit. It’s much harder to set things on fire when you have a broken arm.

He tries to inhale slowly while counting to ten and promptly chokes on the smoke. That does it.

“Itachi, what the _fuck_?”

Itachi, wearing oven mitts and an apron and an intense look of concentration, casts him an unimpressed glance.

“Your eloquence is astounding as always,” he says, and sweet fluffy lord, if he’s PMSing now because _angels do not discriminate between genders_ or some shit like that Shisui is _so_ done.

He rubs his forehead in an attempt to fend off the inevitable migraine. “Skin me into a pair of shoes,” he mutters under his breath before trying again. “What _is_ that?”

“This,” Itachi replies shortly, waving towards the oven with the fire extinguisher, “is breakfast.”

Shisui blinks.

“Breakfast.”

“Yes.”

Examining the tray on top of his tiny little oven, which seems to be the source of all the smoke, Shisui is surprised to see how it sort of resembles bacon. Charcoaled bacon, but still.

“It was in the refrigerator, and I saw no point in wasting it,” Itachi says with as much dignity as a person wearing an apron can muster.

Shisui winces. “Uh…yeah, I’ve been meaning to throw that out. It’s probably six months old by now.”

Again, wrong thing to say. Itachi deflates.

“…Oh. I suppose the greenness should have been an indication.”

“Thanks for trying, though,” Shisui tries, wondering what kind of angel gets a sudden yen for bacon anyway. Also wondering why he’s thanking the guy who almost burned down his apartment. C’est la vie, he supposes.

Itachi nods expressionlessly and dumps the sad, blackened remains into the trash.

“You don’t have any eggs,” he informs Shisui grimly. “Or bread.”

Okay, Shisui is officially living in the Twilight Zone. “Uh…thanks?”

Itachi has the nerve to look at him like _he’s_ the one acting strange.

And then Shisui remembers their conversation from the other day about good ways to wake up in the morning. He distinctly recalls mentioning eggs, toast and bacon. Lots of bacon. And Itachi’s wearing a freakin’ apron and he’s taking the charcoaled meat so personally and…

Oh, _shit_.

He’s an asshole.

“Right,” Shisui says decisively, smacking his hands together. “We’re going out for breakfast, and you can have some nice greasy bacon that you didn’t have to cook yourself. It’ll be better than the shit I buy, anyway.”

So maybe going out isn’t the smartest idea given his financial situation (read: effed up beyond all repair), but it’s not like he has any food in the house, so he would’ve had to buy groceries anyway. Same difference in the end.

_That attitude is what wrecked your finances to begin with_ , a responsible little voice in the back of his head points out.

Actually it sounds a little like Itachi, so Shisui _politely_ tells it to shut up while he goes to get dressed.

.

Twenty minutes later they’re sitting in a Waffle Hut, waiting on two plates full of artery-clogging goodness.

Itachi is still wearing Shisui’s clothes. Shisui is starting to sweat, because he knows exactly what this looks like.

It doesn’t help that Itachi’s still in the habit of staring at Shisui like he’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Even the waitress noticed, giving them both a wink before strutting off with their orders.

Frankly, it’s a lot like the uncomfortable aftermath of a one-night stand (albeit one you take out for breakfast because Shisui is a _gentleman_ , dammit) without the nice parts. Nice meaning sex and wow, Shisui is derailing that train of thought immediately.

_It’s not my fault_ , he moans silently. _He’s the one who’s walking around looking all pretty and_ ** _staring_** _like that, what the hell am I supposed to think?_

The terrifying bit—aside from the fact that Shisui apparently has a crush on a probably insane guy he _just_ met after almost hitting him with the car—is that it’s looking a little less than one-sided.

_I mean, come on. He tried to make me bacon. Wearing an apron, no less. Was that some kind of sign? Was I supposed to make a move there or something?_

He’s about two seconds away from clawing out his eyes in frustration which would really hurt and also be kind of inconvenient, sorta like having a crush on an asylum escapee that _you almost hit with the car, moron..._

“Shisui?”

He blinks out of his slightly panicky reverie. “Yeah?”

“Who are your parents?”

Okay, he wasn’t expecting that one. “You are really blunt, you know that?”

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” Shisui replies dryly. He sighs. “Teyaki and Uruchi Uchiha, but they’re both gone. Car accident a couple years ago.”

Itachi’s hand twitches, like he was going to reach out but thought better of it. “I’m sorry.”

Shisui clears his throat. “Thanks.”

Itachi hesitates. “And was it…your childhood, was it happy?”

It’s Shisui’s turn to stare. “Where is this coming from?”

The angel across the table says nothing. Shisui decides to file the incident away for future lectures on ‘how not to be socially awkward’ and ploughs on.

“Yeah, it was. My parents were great, you know? Never put a ton of pressure on me, always trusted I’d do the right thing in the end. We’d go to this lake every summer and my mom’d make senbei.” The memory is a good one, and he lets its warmth wash over him before continuing. “They owned this little Japanese bakery but, um, it closed after they died. I was living on my own by then, no way did I have the cash to keep it open. And who’d run it anyway?”

He stares out the window for a second, reminiscing. Then he looks back to Itachi with a grin. “They really were great though, Mom and Dad. I think they’d’ve liked you.”

He has no idea why he said that, but it makes Itachi’s eyes go all soft for a second so that’s all right.

Thankfully a distraction arrives in the form of waffles piled high with whipped cream, and two plates of sizzling bacon.

.

“I feel ill,” Itachi informs him, looking slightly green.

“Don’t make me talk,” Shisui groans, putting on his turn signal. “We’re almost home. Then you can take part in a classic ritual we humans like to call ‘sleeping off the food coma.’”

.

They end up collapsing on two different couches and sleeping for four hours (seems like Itachi’s finally gotten the hang of it).

Or at least, Shisui’s pretty sure they _started_ on two different couches. But maybe he made a wrong turn after that mid-nap bathroom break. Or maybe Itachi is actually a cat instead of an angel and is trying to sap all his body heat.

Either way, they’re kind of tangled up and it’s kind of not making him as uncomfortable as it should. Especially since Itachi’s really stupidly cute when he sleeps. It’s the only thing so far that can wipe the solemn look from his face.

He looks so much better when he’s not miserable. When he doesn’t look like he’s carrying this huge weight all by himself.

_Sappy, sappy, sappy,_ Shisui scolds himself mentally, and Itachi opens his eyes like he has some kind of “Shisui’s being an idiot again” radar going off.

They’re very close.

“Hey,” Shisui says, like a dork.

“Hello,” Itachi replies, still doing that staring thing of his.

And the thing is, Itachi’s staring is intense. Shisui’s not sure if he’s a unique case or if that’s just how Itachi looks at people, like they have gravity, like they’re special. But it’s flattering, not to mention kind of endearing.

It’s also hot as hell.

They are _very_ close, after all.

_This is so not my fault_ , Shisui thinks as he kisses him.

It’s a small, brief kiss on the lips. Pretty chaste, but when Shisui pulls back Itachi’s eyes are huge. He looks stunned.

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Shisui begins to feel like he’s made a huge ass of himself (again) and is formulating frantic apologies when Itachi blinks, relaxes and says, “ _Oh_.”

Like he’s finally figured something out.

Shisui’s not sure what he figured, but he likes whatever it is because suddenly Itachi is kissing him hard, openmouthed and slow, and shit, that does not feel like a very angelic thing to do at _all_.

Not that he’s complaining.

He brings a hand up to tangle in that absurdly long hair Itachi has, running his fingers through it. Itachi murmurs something low in his throat, something Shisui doesn’t hear.

“What?” he asks between kisses, hand tracing the side of Itachi’s neck.

Itachi shivers.

“Missed you,” he repeats, quiet and almost desperate.

Shisui doesn’t have time to contemplate what the hell _that_ means, because at that moment his fingers brush the cool metal at Itachi’s throat.

A jolt races through him like an electric shock. He breaks the kiss with a yelp, glaring at the necklace. “The hell was that?”

“What was what?” Itachi asks, flushed and looking confused.

“Your necklace, it—I touched it and it _shocked_ me.”

He expects Itachi to roll his eyes impressively, point out that these things happen and return to their previous activities.

He does not expect the blood to drain out of Itachi’s face like he just saw a corpse.

“Shisui?” he whispers.

That’s when he knows something is wrong.

It shouldn’t feel strange, his name. It shouldn’t feel small and unfamiliar—something about the language in which it’s being spoken, something that doesn’t feel right. But why wouldn’t it feel right? He’s only ever heard his name spoken in English and Japanese, and it sounds pretty much the same either way. He is beginning to feel dizzy.

“ _Shisui_.” Itachi says his name again, but this time it’s different. It doesn’t even sound like his name. There’s an age to it, a weight that it didn’t have when he was speaking English.

But if Itachi isn’t speaking English, what the hell is he speaking and why does Shisui understand it perfectly?

He stumbles from the couch and stands shakily. There’s something picking at the outer shell of his brain, something determined to get in. Flashes like his name and bits of a language he shouldn’t know, a language older than time and space and stars. Cracks in the dam. His head is splitting.

“Shisui, it’s me,” someone is saying, and it’s not English but something else that’s melding with it. “It’s Itachi.”

_Itachi_.

There’s a blinding white light and a warmth under his skin and the dam breaks.

 The memories flood in.

.

_Yearsandyearsandyearssomanyyears_

_Wingsandswordsandcloudsandstarsandthen—_

_Itachi_

_Itachishitshitshitohgodwhathaveyoudone_

**_Whydidyoubetrayme_ **

_(“I will do what is necessary” and his world falls apart)_

_Whathaveyoudonethey’llkillyouandyouknowit_

_Whywon’tyoulistentome_

_(“You’d’ve just killed me anyway” and the pressure around his throat is gone)_

_Don’tsaytherewasnothingIcould’vedonesomething_

_Could’vedonesomething_

_I could’ve stopped you, you liar._

_(He falls and falls and falls until there is nothing.)_

.

He snaps back into his body, gasping, and he is whole.

Whole and suddenly nauseous. He fumbles blindly for the kitchen sink and throws up until his throat burns.

When the red blotches clear from his vision he sees Itachi holding out a glass of water. He takes the glass and downs it in one gulp.

“Shit,” he croaks. “ _Shit_ , Itachi, how did you—why are you-”

“I Fell,” Itachi says in awe, looking at Shisui as though he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Not long after you did.”

That can mean a few different things. “The garrison…?”

Itachi breaks his gaze, focuses it on the floor and Shisui closes his eyes in a moment of mourning for his family of so many years.

“I was cast out,” Itachi continues quietly, not looking up. “As we both knew I would be. I never expected to end up here.”

He ventures a glance upward, but Shisui is looking very pointedly at a spot above his old friend’s head. He’s still trying to press his angelic memories into his human body without shattering them both; if angels choosing to Fall isn’t supposed to happen, then ex-angel humans getting centuries of memories back in one go _definitely_ isn’t supposed to happen.

He liked being Shisui Uchiha. He isn’t sure how Shisui, God’s oddest little angel, fits in.

“So my Grace went to you,” he says slowly. “Guess I figured that would happen. I didn’t count on it coming back, though—didn’t think it would ever be an issue. Those receptacles were always pretty sensitive to touch. But…”

He points sternly at a cupboard and it doesn’t burst into flame in the face of his holy wrath. That’s a little disappointing. “Looks like Dad isn’t backing me up anymore.”

“Your Grace would have melded with mine after the transfer,” Itachi points out. “And mine left me when the elders cast me out. They let me keep my memories as punishment.”

“And mine hung around too,” Shisui finishes. “Huh. You know, this is probably a firs-”

“I’m sorry,” Itachi interrupts. It sounds like he’s been waiting to say it for a long time.

Shisui frowns. “What?”

“I’m so sorry.” Itachi’s voice is shaking. “About everything. I should have-”

Shisui holds up a hand. “We’ve been over this,” he says flatly. “Nobody’s changing their minds now.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Itachi swallow.

He sighs. “Look, at this point the only thing I’m still pissed about is the fact that you lied to me.”

“I-”

“Not about the garrison,” Shisui cuts in. “Although yeah, that should’ve merited a damn mention. No. I’m _pissed_ because you lied to me about…about whether there was anything I could’ve done to stop you.”

Itachi flinches, but he doesn’t bother dancing around. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty for anything else,” he says tonelessly. “There was no point.”

“There damn well was a point,” Shisui snaps. “I’m older than you, in case you’ve forgotten. Taught you everything you know, matter of fact, and that means I don’t need to be babied. You ever forget that—you _ever_ try to coddle me like that again–and I’ll kill you.”

Itachi nods after a minute, and Shisui sees with some relief that he understands.

“I _am_ sorry,” Itachi says.

“Good,” Shisui replies hesitantly. “Because so am I.”

Itachi’s head snaps up so fast, some insane little part of Shisui worries about whiplash.

“ _You_ are?” he repeats, disbelieving.

“For being an idiot,” Shisui answers. “I’ve known you since you were newborn. I should have known something was wrong. You shouldn’t have needed to spell it out for me.” His voice cracks. “I’m so sorry I didn’t stop you.”

They’re both crying, but they’re finally meeting each other’s eyes, and it’s a start.

After so long, Shisui thinks, it kind of feels like coming home.

.

It’s not easy. 

There are still things they haven’t said and things they haven’t forgiven. Maybe they never fully will. For now it’s enough that they keep moving, keep figuring things out.

Shisui quits the crappy job and starts looking around for a new one. He talks to “his” old friends when they call and they don’t call him out as an imposter. Why should they? He is who he is; humanity suited him better than it would have his brothers, and it didn’t change him much.

Itachi, after a few more lessons concerning what is socially acceptable, lands a position at the local university as a professor of ancient civilizations. He’s been to them all, so he doesn’t use a textbook and speaks of Alexander the Great and Cleopatra as old friends. His students—and Shisui—find this hilarious.

They keep the shabby little apartment. It’s still shabby, but Shisui has a strange attachment to it. Maybe because it was Shisui Uchiha’s first home on his own. He has a lot of these nostalgic feelings now and Itachi doesn’t question them, just as he doesn’t question it when Shisui sometimes speaks of “Dad” as a kind old man who owned a bakery.

Neither of them have worked out how much of Shisui is human versus angel, or if Itachi has any angel left in him at all. They try not to worry about it most of the time.

The first time Itachi removes his shirt in Shisui’s presence they both stare at the ugly, charcoaled stubs protruding cruelly from his back. These burnt remains are the last physical reminder of who they are and where they come from.

Itachi looks at them in the mirror and is resigned; they no longer pain him as much as they used to.

Shisui is horrified.

“ _Jesus_ , Itachi,” he breathes (the blasphemy another leftover ism of his human self). “Your wings…”

He looks up with an expression of helpless fury. “You still think it was worth it?” he demands. “Were those bastards really worth this?”

The corner of Itachi’s mouth quirks up. Shisui can’t tell if it’s a smile or a grimace.

“Of course they were.”

Shisui can’t say anything to that, so he doesn’t. They’ve been over this again and again.

Instead he kisses him for the first time since he regained his memories. It’s soft, a comfort and forgiveness at once, and Itachi responds in kind. The tension seeps slowly out of his body, like he’s relieved.

Like he’s been absolved.

Shisui watches him sleep that night, face clear of any bad dreams. He himself is feeling incredibly calm. Breathing slowly hour by hour, feeling the sun begin to rise up and warm his skin, seeing Itachi escape his memories for a little while…it’s as close to peace as he’s ever come.

_Huh_ , a very human voice drawls inside his head. It sounds a little bit like Shisui and a little bit not, and either way it sounds like it’s grinning. _So we’ve all worked things out. Finally._

Shisui grins back.

_Yeah_ , he muses. _I think we’re on our way_.

**.**

**end**

**.**


End file.
